It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah
by rainyrocket
Summary: Missing scene from the episode "Faith"  1x12 . How does Sam deal with Dean dying? Well, for starters he walks into a bar ...


This story was another entry for the summer of Sam love celebration 2010 over at lj.

Disclaimer: So not mine.

Spoilers: up to 5x01  
2,335 words

**IT'S A COLD AND IT'S A BROKEN HALLELUJAH  
**_A Supernatural Fan Fiction_

written by rainyrocket

Guy walks into a bar -

Yeah, yeah, I know, bad joke, bad and old as Satan himself.

But a guy still walks into a bar, and that ain't funny at all.

Bar was mine, guy was shufflin along, hands stuffed in pockets, eyes pinned on my floor. Knew in an instant somethin was off with him, ya know what I mean, yeah -

So guy says "Whiskey, neat," in a voice too old for him.

So guy sits down, pushes the peanut bowl away, I mean who does that, peanuts is for free and all, and I say to guy "Got some ID kid," cause he sure as Rose's ass gets served tonight looks like he just crawled out from under Mommy's skirt. So guy shows me ID, but somethin was off, ya know, kinda ain't not buyin that guy's name's Jimmy Page, or he FBI, or born in '56, ya know what I mean, yeah -

But guy sure needs a drink, some JD to warm his heart, ya know, yeah, so guy sits there and stares into his glass for a long time, wish he says somethin, all that starin, creepy, ya know, but he ain't, so I guess that's just between him and God -

o ~ o ~ o ~ o

"Ah, man, that totally sucks ass," Chuck says. "Really should come up with something better. I can't let the boys suffer all the time, readers'll hate me for it, get annoyed, stop buying, I end up in the gutter."

He slams his hands on the keyboard, makes the keys rattle; he sighs and takes another sip from his gigantic cup of coffee. Another sigh, a stretch of his fingers and a slice of cold pepperoni pineapple-pizza in his mouth before he starts typing again.

"Ooookay, so Sam, Sam, Saaaammmm ... Sam just left Dean, left the hospital, can't write Sam left Dean, readers will get vicious. So Dean's lying in the hospital, waiting for his death ... No, no, only a suicidal person would write that."

Chuck stuffs his mouth again, sighs, he always does sigh when he's writing, Sam and Dean do that to you.

"Maybe I should make Sam camp out at the hospital. Sitting on a chair next to Dean's bed, or on his bed. Fans would love it. Ahh, I should just write porn, everyone loves porn, everyone knows porn is where the big bucks live ... "

Sigh -

"So ... "

o ~ o ~ o ~ o

Sam walked into a bar, and this is not a joke. His feet were shuffling along the dusty wooden floor; he kept his hands tightly trapped into the pockets of his jeans. The bar was small, only five people in there this time of day. Must be around two in the afternoon, Sam thought as he was letting himself fall on one of the bar stools.

"Whiskey, neat," he said to the barkeeper.

"Got some ID, kid?" barkeeper said and Sam pulled out one of his fake FBI IDs. The barkeeper looked at it for a moment then nodded and Sam got Jack.

Sam looked down into the brown liquid, his fingers freezing from the cool glass. What was he doing here? He should be out there, finding a way to save Dean -

Dean who always loved a good brawl stopped fighting. He just lay their, ready to die, the only yelling and kicking came from Sam on this grey morning. Sam was fighting. He was. Now he was getting wasted. Or would be in a few. After he finished staring into the glass, smelling the strong sense of alcohol, burning gently in his nostrils, getting stronger the closer he got as much as Dean's heart got slower.

Sam began to drink, one tiny sip followed by two more, the burning sensation now filling his throat, his stomach. He looked into the mirror, behind the barkeeper, behind the bottles. Dean was there. Lying silent in a white-sheeted bed, lying there in pain.

Sam took a big gulp, asked the barkeeper for one more. Dean's image started to flicker. Clear. Unclear -

It got loud around Sam, a group of hunters, real hunters, entered the bar, ordered beer. Sam wished their hearts would stop, not Dean's.

One of the hunters slapped him on the back, said they had a great hunt and now would like to celebrate with everyone. He ordered a beer for Sam. But Sam, he kept still, tried to lock out the hunter's voice, the voices of the hunter's buddies, the voices, the noises of the world around him.

They didn't stop. They pulled him down on the ground of some deep ocean. He grabbed the beer and swallowed the whole thing at once.

o ~ o ~ o ~ o

The air got damp with the afternoon sun. It was rainy and windy all morning, making Sam shiver as he drove the Impala through town in search of a sanctuary. Turned out to be a smelly sanctuary, but aren't they always?

The comfortable burning sensation from before was making him sick now. He was at his third glass of JD, and his second beer; the hunters really wanted to celebrate and threw round after round. Sam wanted to get out of here, needed to breath fresh air, but he couldn't, it was just one of those days.

Sip. Gulp.

Dean lied to him, he said he would be there, he said he would be with him along the way. He lied, he was dying, he wasn't caring about it, he wasn't caring about Sam.

Sam closed his eyes. Dean's mirror image got clear again, looking disappointedly at Sam, and Sam, he just couldn't bear it. Yeah, one of those days -

o ~ o ~ o ~ o

"Kid, don ya think, you had enough?" The barkeeper said as Sam was asking for another drink.

"None of yer business," Sam snapped back, his speech slurry.

"Listen, whatever ya pro - "

"Want more!" Sam's voice reached John Winchester-level. Loud and commanding. No questions ask. You do what I say.

It worked. Sam got his drink. And he was pleased, but he wasn't drinking it yet. It was past four in the afternoon and Sam was back at staring. Thoroughly. He was sure he could make out his own mirror image in the JD.

"See that, Dean? I got one too. Two," he was mumbling, the barkeeper looked at him, irritated, but then Sam wasn't the first one drowning his sorrow in the barkeeper's bar.

"Take it easy," barkeeper said, knowing immediately that Sam wasn't listening, that Sam was drifting off into his own world.

o ~ o ~ o ~ o

Sam got ashen in the face at ten past five, seeing Dean dying behind the barkeeper in the mirror. The half-full glass of whiskey shattered into tiny pieces as Sam jumped off of his stool, pulling it down with his elbow. The group of hunters was silent for a moment, watching Sam, then they laughed and got back to their cheery chatter.

The bathroom in the back of the bar was like all the bathrooms in the back of bars Sam has seen throughout his life. Must have been hundreds. So he knew his way around. Unfortenately his stomach didn't. Most of his puke landed on one of the toilet doors, an improvement really. Before that obscene limericks and a sketch of a donkey and a woman were in plain side for everyone who took a dump.

Sam cleared his throat. Raw now. He washed some puke stains off his hands, drank some water.

Days like those -

God, he needed help. He needed someone with him. He needed Dean.

_Can't you help him?_

Sam wanted to scream it out, but instead it turned into a silent prayer. Hoping for someone to hear it in this world where shadows of death were closing in all the time.

Dean wasn't the only one dying.

_But he's my brother._

He moves, his clothes feel heavy on his skin.

_Are you there? Can you hear me?_

Sometimes, days like those, he wants to believe, he wants to hope.

_Please_.

He never got an answer.

_God._

Sam's breath cold on the dirty mirror. He could already feel Dean leaving. Hurrying away from him. Like Mom. Like Jess. Like Dad. The song always remained the same.

The only difference was that this was Dean, and Dean never dies, Dean never goes away, Dean never leaves him. He just didn't.

_Why -_

Sam laughed. Saw his teeth reflected in the mirror. That was a stupid thing to ask. Why ... Why what? Sam didn't know. He just knew one thing, and that was Dean.

o ~ o ~ o ~ o

He woke up in the middle of this nightmare he called life, thinking everyone was living like he did, then he turned five and started to feel like a freak. If Dean dies, he would be the only freak left standing. If Dean dies -

_- would he go to heaven?_  
If Dean dies then Sam would find out real soon. Find out how it is to be dead. Find out how it feels to be dead. To be alone. Is there a difference? With Dean dead Sam would be truly alone, would be alive in all the worst ways.

He's a hero, you know?

_You gotta do somethin'._

_Some miracle._

_Send an angel._

_Just save him. Save my brother._

The door slammed open, one of the hunters came in, saying "Enjoyed ya beer?" then bending over one of the urinals, looking satisfied, happy. He was happy. Sam was sure of it. The hunter was happy, and for a moment he envied him, he wanted to be that hunter, travelling with his buddies and hunt -

"Dean," Sam groaned.

"What?" the hunter replied, already done and half out of the door.

"Nuthin' - "

The hunter shrugged and left.

"Brilliant idea," Sam said to himself, straightened his shoulders and took a last look at the mirror.

"'Kay then - "

Then Dean was back. Staring at him, out of the glass.

"What d'ya gonna do, Sammy?"

Sam looked his mirror brother straight into the eyes. Green battling green.

"I'm gonna save you."

o ~ o ~ o ~ o

Sam went back into the main room of the bar, plopped down onto his old bar stool, but ordered nothing; the barkeeper didn't care. Sam inhaled. Wanted to sit here for a moment, clear his head a bit before driving back to the motel. Sam exhaled. A small shadow was falling upon him, and he thought death had found him, wanting to kick Sam's ass for trying to save Dean, for trying to interfere.

Death turned out to be a brunette woman, wearing tight black jeans and a purple holderneck-top.

"Hello there, are you new in town? I haven't seen you before, and I sure wouldn't have forgotten a pretty face like yours."

Sam pulled his lips tight.

"Leave me alone - " A quiet snarl.

"Uh," the brunette said, biting on her index finger. "New in town and charming."

Sam's lips weren't pulled tight anymore, they were wide open, they were shouting -

"I said, LEAVE ME ALONE!" Sam's voice teary, loud, and hoarse.

The woman wasn't even startled, she smiled, she smiled broader as the bar got quiet, as the hunters stood up, two of them at the front of the small group.

"The guy botherin' you, Rose?" Sam's beer and bathroom-hunter said.

The tip of her tongue slipped out between Rose's lips, snake-like.

"Not at all, Walter," she said, soothingly.

"Good, otherwise - " Walter smacked his fist on the table, the empty beer mugs were clinging together.

"Thank you guys, but I think I can handle him." Rose said, fingers stroking Sam's arm.

"Hey - " Now Rose was startled. Sam stood up, almost knocked her over and was out of the door within seconds.

"Wait," Rose yelled after him, Rose ran after him.

She pushed through the door, outside she saw Sam fumbling with what seemed to be car keys, his face stern.

"Hey," she said.

"What?" Sam pushed the key inside the lock of the Impala, not looking at her.

Rose smiled at him, at his back, at his lean body vanishing into the car.

"I might can help you."

"I doubt that," Sam grunted before closing the door. Not seeing Rose's eyes turn black.

"Uh, complicated character, I like that. Azazel sure knows how to pick them."

o ~ o ~ o ~ o

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," Becky jumps out of her bed. Throwing the new Carver Edlund in the air. "That can't be happening. I, I stop reading, now - "

She picks up the book again. "Well, maybe after - "

She opens the book, browses through the pages until she finds the line where she left off and sighs, she always sighs when reading Supernatural, Sam and Dean do that to you.

"I have a bad feeling, like God isn't the one answering Sammy's prayers - "

o ~ o ~ o ~ o

No Dean brushed his shoulders as he entered their motel room through the small door, so Sam started to research. Called some if not all of Dad's contacts he knew of. He still felt a bit sick, a bit shaky on his feet. It should be later in the day, but when Sam looked out of the window, the sun was still up, the day still as grey as it was in the morning.

Sam sat down on one of the beds, print-outs about all things heart spread all over it, he reached for his phone, lying next to his laptop, dialing Dad's number -

Sam inhaled -

_Please -_

It rang -

_"This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency call my son Dean. 8669073235. He can help."_

**THE END**

Thanks for reading, reviews are loved :)


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